


Metamorphosis

by draculard



Category: Monster - Christopher Pike
Genre: Blood Drinking, Blood and Gore, F/F, First Time, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Necrophilia, Oral Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-25
Updated: 2019-09-25
Packaged: 2020-10-28 04:10:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 551
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20772320
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/draculard/pseuds/draculard
Summary: The taste of Mary's blood in her mouth is so good it's almost sexual.





	Metamorphosis

“It’s just an experiment,” Mary says. Her voice is flat and logical. Her lips are hovering a centimeter away from Angela’s breasts. “I can’t believe you’ve never had a fucking orgasm before.”

Angela doesn’t respond. Her hands are clasped over her stomach  — she knows it’s a nervous posture, and she’s tried to do something more relaxed and cool-looking, but she can’t figure out what that would be. She puts her hands flat on the mattress, but that makes her look like a corpse. She puts them behind her head, but after a minute her arms start to fall asleep, so she clasps them over her stomach again and worries at her fingers and stares up at the ceiling, biting her lip.

“What  _ else _ are you missing out on?” Mary asks.

It’s a rhetorical question. Even if it weren’t, Angela probably wouldn’t answer. The truth is she’s missing out on pretty much everything. She’s never had anyone go down on her before.  _ She’s _ never gone down on anyone before, either.

It’s almost too much for her when Mary’s tongue finally touches her skin. She covers Angela’s breasts in soft, open-mouthed kisses. Her lips find Angela’s nipples and  — oh, God, yeah, that’s not something Angela’s ever experienced before, for sure. 

“Okay,” Angela says, breathless already. “Okay, that’s--”

Mary draws away. “Too much?”

Angela shakes her head. “It’s good,” she says.

And it just gets better from there.

* * *

It isn’t what she intended to do. Her last conscious thought was just,  _ I need to get her down from there.  _ So she’d crossed the room and she’d torn down the wire connecting Mary’s body to the rafters above, and she’d laid Mary’s body down on the floor.

And her fingers had dipped into the wound on Mary’s neck, where her body weight had driven the wire into her flesh.

And she’d stuck her fingers in her mouth absently, tasting the blood. She’d felt a surge of warmth through her body  — a wave of almost sexual intensity  — and then she’d gone back for more. 

She starts rutting before she knows it, her hips slotted against Mary’s, her lips on Mary’s still-bleeding wound. She remembers Mary’s lips on her inner thigh, Mary’s tongue on her clit, and she tastes the rank copper flavor of blood in her mouth and thinks,  _ This is it. This is how it was always meant to be. _

Her teeth find Mary’s flesh, torn loose by the wire.

She has her second orgasm with Mary’s blood and a strip of skin in her mouth.

* * *

The creature is unsure what drives it here each night, when the sun is down and the humans have settled into their homes. It picks its way through the oblong stones until it finds the one it wants, and then it folds its leathery wings over its back and sits on its haunches in the grass, staring.

Just staring.

Somehow, it thinks it knows what the engraved letters on the stone are meant to say. A name rattles around the creature’s head:  _ Mary. Mary Blanc. _

And that means something. The name brings with it a wave of emotion the creature can’t quite identify: sorrow and loneliness, affection, love. Flashes of memories accompany it — the blast of a shotgun, a splatter of blood, the taste of a fresh corpse.

Mary.


End file.
